


Better

by Lunensis



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, I'm going to personally take a steel pipe to Jonny Sims kneecaps for this one, M/M, Spoilers for MAG 154, The new episode did not hold any punches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunensis/pseuds/Lunensis
Summary: Martin always felt like it was his own fault, really. He could have done better. For his mother, for himself, for Jon.





	Better

He’d always been lonely, when he really thinks about it. He’d tried to make up for it when he was younger, of course--he kept a gentle disposition, doing his best to seem approachable (despite being too impatient to resist reaching out first anyway). He was relatively shy, awkward with his first impressions. But, sometimes, this could be misconstrued as charming--particularly to the adults that were endeared by his well-meaning intentions, even when they fell short. He absorbed the attention, hoping that by the time he got home, he’d done enough.

There were a few times he’d been a little embarrassed by his reaction when Elias had pushed information into his head, forcing him to confront something he already knew. But it couldn’t really be helped. It’s one thing to be highly suspicious of something, and another entirely to have confirmation of that suspicion poured directly into his head so that he felt every single emotion of resentment and despair his mother held over the years. All targeted toward him. A release for all of the emotions his father had left her with. 

Martin wasn’t a fool, nor was his mother particularly subtle. He knew his mother wasn’t particularly fond of him, not in the way media portrayed that a mother  _ should _ . She wasn’t subtle with her venomous remarks, if she even bothered acknowledging him properly. But he was foolish, and still held onto the hope from childhood that he could try to win her affection properly. She blamed him for many things, and that led to him blaming himself in turn--if he just tried  _ harder, _ if he was just a better son, then things wouldn’t be like this. So, he started with being less demanding of her time. He became more self-sufficient with his schoolwork, doing his best on his own and ensuring he got it done on time so she didn’t have to worry about it. Things grew from there; he handled more of the household chores, he learned how to make his own snacks for school, and then fix his own dinner afterward. Anything to decrease her stress so she had less things bothering her.

It never really seemed to work, though. Not really. She was still snappy with him at times, but the older he grew, the more she refused to even look at him. So he continued to try harder, handling as much of his class registration on his own as possible, studying as studiously as he could even when the topics didn’t stick and he felt like crying out of the frustration. He found tutors in the haphazard collection of friends he’d gathered, when he needed them. He got a shitty part-time job as soon as he could, to help support himself as well as the household when necessary. Sometimes he’d pitch in for groceries, or the bills. As his mother’s health declined, he had more and more slack to pick up. Finally, after she had deteriorated too far, he dropped out entirely. 

_ This _ time, he was sure--he could do his very best to take care of her. He tried his best to get ahold of a better, more stable job. Something with better pay for less back-breaking hours. Until then, he worked any odd-job he could during his free time between work and caring for his mother. Watching other people’s flats, taking care of a family member’s dog, fetching groceries for a neighbor. He was usually met with the same reaction: being called a good boy for taking care of his poor mother, pity for such a situation, being handed the money before being sent off to return home. The pieces sometimes shifted, but they all boiled down to the same sentiments. 

Finally, his desperation cropped up with results. The Magnus Institute had responded with interest in an interview, and he once again tried his hardest. He looked into all the best interview tips--one even saying to subtly wipe his hand on his pants before shaking hands, ensuring no nervous sweat could be detected by his interviewer?-- and dug through boxes of  _ stuff _ before finally finding an old suit of his father’s. It was in need of a wash and a good ironing afterward, but he should fit into it without too much difficulty. 

His mother was particularly cold when she saw him before his interview.

Things were…  _ well _ . Now that he had stable work, and better pay. It wasn’t a riveting job, but he tried his best to fulfill the requirements he didn’t always understand. He didn’t set any absurd standards for himself this time--just  _ enough, _ so nobody thought to crack open his file and take a closer look at his application. He had done a good enough job to float by, unnoticed, for years. He slowly got used to the work, and the standards were easier to achieve with the experience he had gained from coworkers and frequent corrections to misfiling. When he was moved down to the lower levels of the archives, he initially appreciated the promise of a slight raise and similar work. But, of course, he was being too optimistic about the situation. 

Martin already knew Jon, when they were coworkers. He was mostly corrected by Jon during the times a misfile had slipped past his eye. Jon was… not a very polite person, quite prickly by nature. Martin, for his part, was tolerant. He was used to this sort of behavior, and even appreciated that there was at least no guesswork about Jon disliking him--Jon disliked  _ everyone, _ there were just a few that had especially earned his ire. Jon being his boss was a much different situation. Martin had to try harder, which meant his anxiety spiked, which led to more mistakes and fumbles as he tried to reach Jon’s higher standards. 

Honestly. He should have known that his heart would be so weak.

It only made sense that he would fall for somebody that was harsh, but so obviously in need of caring. How many times had he seen Jon in the same clothes from the day before, crumpled from resting in the cot that had been smuggled down for such an occasion? How many times had he tried his best to coerce Jon into eating more, eating better, let alone just take a  _ damn break already _ ? But Jon was all sharp dismissals and sharper angles; scrawny legs and pointy elbows that could probably stab somebody if he had enough strength to do so. He was always blowing hot air, discrediting statements, and demanding more-- _ better _ \-- of Martin. Of course Martin tried his hardest, he threw himself more vehemently into work when his mother went into a care facility and refused his letters, let alone his visits. He broke into a building, for God’s sake, and nearly ended up losing his life to a human Hive  _ twice _ by the end of it all! Even if things had eased up then--Martin still found himself following that same mantra. If only he had been  _ better. _

And now, finally,  _ FINALLY,  _ after all of this time. He got the results he had wanted for so long. He was  _ enough. _ Enough for Jon to barge into his lonely, isolated office. Enough for Jon to abandon his work (which he  _ needs _ to live, Martin knows), to starve himself, to offer to  _ gouge out his eyes _ if they meant they could leave this damnable facility together. Martin almost wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh. It had taken  _ years _ working with Jon, worrying about Jon, taking care of Jon as best as he was allowed to. Now, finally, after Martin had decided to do something with himself--something which might lead to his last act of care for others--and Jon attempts to throw a wrench into the machinery. 

Martin chuckles, a rueful sound.

“Could you even survive?”

Even to his own ears, the statement is resoundingly harsh. But… he really doesn’t know. Jon was dead, lying in a hospital bed for six months, and the only thing that brought him back was his acceptance of the Beholding into his life. Martin was, to his annoyance at this moment, still so concerned with Jon’s well being. He was pissed, of course--how could Jon do this to him, especially now of all times? He couldn’t make this decision for the both of them. Not now, not with such stakes. Even if he had once (and, occasionally, still has) dreamed of running off somewhere with Jon alone at his side. 

Something in his heart pangs, as he watches Jon stubbornly insist. He can’t believe it, not really. He yearns to be able to run away, to leave the horrors of The Institute far behind and pretend the Fears don’t exist. But he can’t. He gets a bitter taste in his mouth--that’s not why Jon’s really here, anyway. He’s just looking for excuses, hoping he’ll be shot down. Why else would he search for Martin, of all people? This wasn’t a confession. This wasn’t a daydream from the Martin of last year, that grew closer to Jon through shared trauma and a few hours locked in the same space together. Martin has his own problems to deal with--an obnoxious boss that’ll certainly be breathing down his neck again after this interaction, research on the emergence of a new fear, and trying not to lose himself in the process of it all. He stores this annoyance, fans the flame into something a little harsher. A little more dismissive. 

And, when Jon leaves--shoulders slumped, folding into himself, disappointment poorly masked with his frayed nerves--Martin pretends it doesn’t hurt. He pretends that a piece of his heart doesn’t follow out that door. He pretends that he can’t feel the stinging at his eyes or the constriction around his throat when he settles behind the desk.

The room feels even colder as Martin clears his throat and grabs another case file. 

**Author's Note:**

> I will continue to not have a beta because god may have cursed me for my hubris but that hasn't stopped me yet


End file.
